In the realm of Palasia, where the Silver Church's iron grip extends across the continent, the conquered Illuri people still cling to the old ways, praying to spirits that have grown quiet. At the heart of this struggle are four souls bound by fate:...
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Hearing the waves crashing against the shore and smelling the salt in the air always gave some comfort to Liwani. He would close his eyes and let the feeling of freedom wash over him.
It was not always effective. After hours of sitting, the plaited twigs of the wicker throne beneath him have begun to latch cruelly against his skin in spite of the thick, formless robe that hugged his body.
Opening his eyes, temporarily blinded, he blinked to let in the morning sun that blazed above him. Its glorious rays shining down onto his people who were then cleaning up after the festivities of the night before.
Towards the beach, he saw Illuri setting up their boats to fish and trade with neighbouring tribes and even nearby Palasian colonies. To his right, he saw men and women helping the visiting tribes dismantle and pack their bamboo huts and yak wool tents. They would be returning to their own karangs after having seen the moon spirit in the flesh. After all, their prayers were heard, and they have said their piece. They have little reason to stay. Liwani understood completely.
How lucky they are to be leaving this joyless place, he thought.
It had been three nights since he suggested he visit the Illuri that have made lands north of the Palasian border their home. To compel them to flee south before the electun's armies notice them. It was not well-received.
His father refused to have him travel north. He obtained no support from Akila and his other siblings either. Instead, he was stuck to his throne, forced to watch as Illuri prepare for their journeys. Journeys that he would do anything to embark on but understood would never get the chance to. Ruefully, he watched the constant movement before him, a direct contrast to his forced immobility.
Once, he offered to help pack up the tents but even that was forbidden by the apo. Of course, his father was eerily right to be so restrictive for Liwani did consider slipping through the crowd with the hopes of escaping to another tribe. He would not make another attempt for stationed beside him were guards meant to lock him in place. Damn that decrepit man! Liwani cursed inwardly.
"Rest, my teacher. We will resume our lessons tonight." Liwani turned to the young pink-skin girl that knelt beside his throne. She'd been teaching him Gilirak, the tongue of the Giliganad. He found the lessons fascinating, noting the queer differences and clever similarities it shared with the sacred Illurak, but he was much too upset to focus. The girl nodded mutely. She never spoke unless spoken to, her silence vexatiously deafening, and Liwani made it his mission to make her more forthcoming.
"Jenny, do you remember what it was like before the Illuri took you?"
Her eyes remained affixed to the ground when she replied, but from what Liwani could see, they glazed over with repressed emotions, but which ones, the sea god could not name.
